BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1) (9 page)

Hearing
Cheryl’s voice caused his heart to lurch more and the guilt to rise. How could
he wish she were not carrying his child? A child made from love. God forgive
him for thinking such a thing. He did want the child.

John crossed Cameron’s
room and hugged Cheryl to his chest. He needed her strength, her calming
presence to help him over this hurdle. “He’s drunk. I took care of it.”

***

As Shannon
drove her Mercedes SUV down her street that ran parallel to the ocean, she lowered
the window and breathed in the salty ocean air. She didn’t think she could live
anywhere not connected to the ocean. It had always been a huge part of her life,
and it comforted her knowing within steps of her house she could enter another
world. Her long walks on the beach had always done wonders to put her life in perspective
when she needed it. And most of her books were created in her mind during her
solitary strolls in the sand. Nothing could compare to the smell of salt water,
the feel of the cold, moist sand between her toes and the sound of the surf to
inspire her creative juices to flow.

In fact, as
soon as she unpacked, she bundled up and headed down to the beach, putting off
her phone calls to her family to let them know she arrived home safely. The
beach seemed deserted as she knew it would be. She walked over toward her
favorite jetties and sat with her legs bent up and her arms wrapped around them
to ward off the chilly breeze coming off the water. She stared out into the
surf. It rode high on the beach, appearing exceptionally rough, and her mind
began to wander.

She needed to
start plotting out her next book. Her agent and editor wanted to see a synopsis
within the month. Oh, she had plenty of plots mulling around in her head, she
just didn’t know which story she would pluck out of her brain. Which story was
the one she needed to write next? The character fighting to be heard over all
the others would inevitably win. The story and characters would take shape in
her mind, much like watching a movie, and she would not be able to think of
anything else until she put it down on paper.

The first draft
drained her emotionally. She poured her heart and soul into the characters in
her story. She laughed and cried with them and fell in love with each and every
one, creating just the right mix of personality and emotion to make them
interesting and real to her readers. Shannon always strived to make her readers
feel personally connected to her characters and the story of their lives. She
wanted them to forget they were reading a book and just become part of the
story itself. See themselves as one of her characters. Be one of her characters.
Share their feelings and emotions. Weep with them, laugh with them, and feel
connected to them as a whole.

When she read
someone else’s book and she forgot about everything but the story and the
characters and actually felt completely connected to it, utterly involved with
everything—the humor, the sadness, the terror—then she knew the author had done
their job. Anyone could put words on paper, but it took a special someone, a
special gift, not to mention a wild imagination, to pull the reader into the
story and keep them there. Shannon strived for that in each and every book she
wrote. If she didn’t feel the emotional pull herself, how would her readers
feel it?

Many times
she’d get up in the wee hours of the night and write notes down. Her brain
twisted, turned and plotted even as she slept. Often she’d write the last
chapter when the book was not even near completion. Shannon had one close
friend, an avid reader, who dabbled in writing herself, whom she would give the
first draft to and hope for a good reception. Her friend had such a knack in
knowing good work when she saw it. If it needed more work, she was great with
suggestions.

Shannon’s
relationship with her editor, Kevin, was so good they could always discuss what
changes and improvements needed to be made. She respected and admired his
ability to know a bestseller when he read one. Not to mention their close
personal relationship—a relationship Shannon cherished and never took for
granted.

So here she
sat, on hard, damp, freezing cold rocks trying to pull the plot for her next
book out of her creative mind, which in truth, felt anything but creative at
the moment. The only thing she was able to think about was Cole and how she
missed him terribly and dreamed about when she would see him again. She knew he
was in Philadelphia now, and she wasn’t quite positive where his tour went next.
She was also anxiously awaiting the trial transcripts, which should arrive any
day.

Never mind her
terrifying night in Chicago. She’d been on edge, walking around on eggshells,
expecting her attacker to appear at any moment. When she’d been on the road,
she’d hired a personal bodyguard, but now she was at home and she didn’t feel
the need. Her address, as far as she knew, was a well-kept secret. Besides, she
hated having a big-hulking man following her everywhere. She’d received several
calls and texts from Cole, but she knew his tour schedule was crowded and he
barely had time to himself. The fact he called her when his time was free
humbled her and made her heart sing.

After an hour
or so more of daydreaming about Cole, she beat herself up and rose off the
rocks, stretched her stiff, sore and cold body. Her bottom was numb and her
hands freezing as she made her way back to her house. Five years ago she’d
stumbled purely by chance on this beautifully restored Victorian, complete with
wraparound porch. Some might consider it an upside down house. The first floor
boasted three bedrooms and a bath.

The second
floor held the large spacious kitchen with white cabinets and black granite
counter tops. There was a large center island with four bar stools. It was the
center of the house. Everyone always gathered around the island. The back of
the house, facing the ocean, housed the large family room with a beautiful
floor-to-ceiling fieldstone fireplace that held a gas insert sending off instant
flame and heat. Shannon had the fireplace on most days from September to May to
help with the chill of living in an old drafty house by the ocean. The wall
facing the ocean was completely taken up with windows and the view,
breathtaking. She could see Mother Nature in all her glory. And many times
since she’d lived here, Mother Nature had tried to come through those windows.

The third floor
held her bedroom and office. There was a large bathroom complete with a
spacious Jacuzzi tub. The bedroom had French doors that opened up to a small
balcony. In the summertime it was one of her favorite places to curl up with a
good book. A wrought iron bistro set sat on the balcony as well as a
comfortable lounge chair. The best thing about it was the panoramic views. At
times it felt as though she lived at the ends of the earth. But right now it
was time to have her two feet planted firmly on the ground.

John would be
by soon to drop off Cameron. She hadn’t seen John or Cameron in seven days. Her
son, she couldn’t wait to see. John, hell, she was still mad at him and his
superior attitude. She had to admit though, she and John had a good
relationship compared to some divorced couples who shared custody of a son. Shannon
knew plenty of divorced people who couldn’t stand to be in the same town, never
mind the same room as their divorced spouse.

She should
count her blessings. She’d been lucky so far. But she still thought John was
being unreasonable. He had his lovely wife, three adorable children and one on
the way. She was truly happy for him. Why couldn’t he be happy for her?

Cameron went to
a private school in Braintree. It made switching back and forth between Hingham
and Standish Bay easy. There was a boy nearby in his senior year at the same
school who drove Cameron most days. On days he stayed for one activity or
another, she went and picked him up. When he stayed with John and Cheryl,
either they drove him back and forth or a friend did. So far, the arrangements
had always worked. And hopefully would continue to do so.

John called
last night and told her about Cameron’s drinking and smoking escapade. It
brought back many memories from her own teenage years, some good and some bad.
They both agreed a week’s grounding fit the punishment. And when the grounding
ended, he had to give them a play-by-play of where he’d be and who he’d be with
at all times. They knew it seemed harsh, but with Cameron due to get his driver’s
license next month, they wanted to make damn sure he wasn’t going to drink and
drive.

John dropped Cameron
off mid-afternoon and her heart swelled as it always did when she saw her son. When
she saw her little boy, who was not so little anymore. In fact he stood taller
than her by several inches now. Cameron gave her a hug and kiss then went
directly down the hall to his bedroom. John, on the other hand, came in
uninvited, plopped himself down at the kitchen island, and Shannon could tell
by the look on his face, he had talking on his mind. She wondered if she should
tell him about what happened in Chicago. For the time being she decided to keep
it to herself.

Standing with
her back against the counter, she studied him. She didn’t know when the last
time was she eyed him intently and scrutinized every aspect of him, but she did
now and was a little disturbed by what she saw. He looked positively exhausted.
His deep, brown eyes looked almost black with worry. His brows were creased and
there were shadows beneath his eyes as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. His
body was still fit and trim, but his hair was thinning fast and starting to
gray around the temples. All and all, he still resembled the handsome teenager
she’d loved, although, she’d never admit it to him. And at thirty-four he was
still undeniably handsome, but his exhausted and troublesome look deterred from
that handsomeness. It was a damn good thing he didn’t do it for her anymore, didn’t
cause her to feel sexual pull or lust anymore, just good old-fashioned
friendship.

“What’s on your
mind John,” Shannon finally asked as he still hadn’t spoken a word. She
wondered if he was scrutinizing her as she’d been him.

“Nothing…something,”
he stammered as he ran his hands through his hair, clearly grasping for words. “I’m
feeling pulled in a zillion directions.”

“How about a
drink?”

“Water.”

Shannon took a
glass from a cabinet and filled it with ice and water from the door of her
refrigerator and handed it to him. He drank thirstily and sighed. “I can’t
believe Cheryl’s pregnant again. How the hell am I going to handle another kid?”

He looked right
into her eyes with his desperate ones, and her heart sped up. He looked on the
verge of tears. She hadn’t seen him this upset since they decided to divorce
all those years ago. Her anger with him over Cole dissolved and she became
instantly worried.

“John, you
don’t have to handle anything alone. You have Cheryl. Now tell me what’s really
bothering you?”

His head
snapped up and he nearly smiled. “Damn, you’re good.”

She grinned at
him. “You’re damn right I am. Now spill your guts.”

“Cameron…and
you...I feel as though you’re both pulling away from me.”

Shannon went to
interrupt, but he put up his hand to stop her, causing her intended words to
die on her lips.

“I know it’s
normal for teenagers to pull away from their parents and start being more
independent. I understand that with Cameron, but you’ve barely spoken to me in
the past week.”

“John.”

“Let me finish.
I know we’ve been divorced a long time and most ex-married couples usually hate
each other, but you’ve been my best friend since middle school. I can tell you
things I can’t even tell Cheryl, which hell,” he snorted, “isn’t good. Anyway.”
He looked at her, his eyes serious, his voice soft. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

She narrowed
her eyes. “Does this admission of you being such an asshole mean you’ve had a
change of heart about Cole?”
She could only hope
.

John got up and
started down the stairs toward the door, stopped and turned back, grinning like
a schoolboy. “Shit no,” he said as he slipped out the door.

She wanted to
strangle the man. But instead she went to speak with Cameron and found one boy angry
at his father.

Shannon tried
to smooth things over without letting her own frustration with John surface. But
Cameron didn’t buy anything she said, which wasn’t surprising. Her son was no
dummy. When he told her about the phone calls coming on John’s landline from
people in the record industry regarding his music career Shannon saw black. How
dare John not discuss this with her? He was only one-half of a parenting team
and she intended to have her say in this matter. Christ, what was he thinking? Several
talent agents called and two record producers! She was way past upset John had
conveniently omitted mentioning it during their talk earlier.

***

Later in the
evening, as Shannon prepared dinner and Cameron did homework behind his closed
bedroom door, the bell rang. She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and ran down
the stairs to the door, wondering who it could possibly be. As she opened it,
her heart pumped wildly. On her front porch stood Cole, holding a backpack and
looking slightly frazzled around the edges. One could say he literary looked
asleep on his feet. Shannon reached out and pulled him in, wrapped her arms
around him for dear life, as if she were in the middle of the icy black
Atlantic Ocean clinging to a buoy, the only real lifeline around for miles and
miles of raging ocean. He was the last person she expected to see at her door. Was
it possible she plagued his mind as much as he did hers? Her mind hummed, how
long would he stay? Would they finally make love? Would she tell him she loved
him?
Slow down Shannon, slow way down. Start with the obvious.